


All we fought for (weren't worth the pain)

by Alexei2020



Series: Oneshot collection [18]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Five Stages of Grief, Flash Thompson Needs a Hug, Flash Thompson Redemption, Hurt Peter Parker, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Moving In Together, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexei2020/pseuds/Alexei2020
Summary: "All we know is all we've learnedEndless love is followed by hurtAnd all we've built just went down the drain'Cause of all we've fired and all we've tornThere's no life left after the warAnd all we fought for weren't worth the pain"It’s so weird, being this close to Peter, and seeing him laugh. It’s a wonderful sound, to be honest. Pure and raw and like everything else about Peter: whole.Because Peter never does anything halfway. He gives his all to everyone and everything. Even Flash. And it’s a little intimidating to be in his orbit like this. Flash has never been nice to him. They’ve been polite since they fucked off to the same college and everyone else spread out elsewhere.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Flash Thompson
Series: Oneshot collection [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877071
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	All we fought for (weren't worth the pain)

**_“All we know is all we’ve learned”_ **

Flash watches as May flicks through the magazine, eyes scanning the pages and all the different flower decorations. She’s so calm, there’s even a hint of a smile to be traced on her face sometimes. Flash doesn’t get how she can be so serene. Maybe that’s where Peter got it from. That amazing ability to always be in control. 

* * *

The loud thud has Flash turn around from their new view, and he watches as Peter peeks up from behind 5 boxes stacked on top of each other. A satisfying smirk plastered on his face as he walks around it and snakes his arms around Flash’s waist. 

“That was the last. Where do you wanna start?” his voice is sweet and intoxicating, and Flash has known this side of Peter for so long now, he knows exactly where Peter would prefer to start.

“Setting up the bed?” he raises a quizzical eyebrow, and Peter hums victoriously, takes his hand and _skips_ into the bedroom. 

Peter’s brilliant mind gets them started, and questionable touches and _accidental_ kisses causes them to stop half way. Flash is pinned to the floor, shirt ripped open and buttons strewn across the room along with screws and nuts and tools. 

Peter is kissing down his chest with all his might, sucking and biting marks as he makes his way down. Calloused fingers trail down his arms and sides, feeling up every inch of flesh available. Flash has half a brain cell active enough to unbuckle his belt before that ends up in pieces too. 

It earns him a low rumble of approval, and without any kind of restraint left, Flash is lying naked on the hardwood floor, aching hard and panting, on the verge of begging, as Peter’s mouth teases his thighs, tongue licking along his hip bone. Warm breath ghosts over his shaft where it twitches in demanding eagerness. 

“Pete—” he breathes, hand coming down to grab those soft, chestnut curls, and guide the warm mouth to where he wants, _needs_ it to go. But Peter’s stupid strength is stubbornly annoying. Peter stops mouthing on the inside of his thigh, looks up at him with amusement and an authority Flash will never be able to achieve. “— Please,” he whimpers, hips bucking without permission.

It’s ridiculous how Peter can reduce him to such a useless mess, he’s still fully dressed, and could probably walk into Stark’s lab and the genius billionaire would have been none the wiser. 

“You gonna be good for me, Gene?” he asks with a husky voice in his ear, his clothed crotch rubbing against his very red and swollen cock. Fingers ghosting over his skin along his ribs, sending goosebumps and shivers down his spine. 

Peter looks at him, strict, huge eyes waiting for Flash to give the all clear. He nods, doesn’t trust his voice not to break. But it’s not enough. He knows that. He knows Peter won’t do anything until he hears it clearly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be good,” he manages to get out, and with a triumphant smile, and an all consuming kiss, Peter wraps his hand around him, tightening his fingers slowly, so, so slowly, until Flash sees stars. 

* * *

“Peter would love this, don’t you think?” she says, showing a beautiful setup of blue and white flowers. Flash swirls his ring around on his fingers, feels the weight of it grounding him. Yeah. Peter’s gonna love that.

* * *

He’s nervous. Hands sweaty as he fumbles with the tiny box. He opens it with shaky fingers, looks at the shining piece of silver, thinks — this is it. This is his moment. This is how he’ll finally make Peter understand. This is how he’ll be able to tell him how much he’s done for him over the years. How important he has been — still is — to the person Flash has become. How he’s helped form and shape him into a man he’s proud of. 

This is Flash’s way of saying _thank you_. 

He has been practicing his speech for months now. The tiny box growing heavier and heavier every day. He’s been planning and replanning the whole evening so many times he can’t possibly explain how he ended up from a trip to Vermont to a huge party with everyone they know but don’t really like, to a quiet candlelit dinner in their own apartment. 

But this is perfect. It’s gonna be perfect. It _has to be_ perfect. Because anything less isn’t good enough. Not for Peter. 

“Gene?” The front door clicks shut and the box closes with it. He stuffs it back in his pocket and glues his best attempt at an award winning smile on his face. _Let's do this._

“What’s all this? Did I forget an anniversary or something?” Peter eyes the table suspiciously, but sits down when Flash offers him a chair. He can almost hear the gears turning, trying to figure out what he might have forgotten. 

There’s a lot of dates to remember, after 6 years as a couple, but Flash chose this day because it doesn’t have a special meaning. It’s just a normal Thursday. 

“You didn’t forget anything,” he kisses Peter’s cheek and goes to get the dinner from the kitchen. It took him the whole day to figure out the recipe and actually make it, but hopefully, it will taste as good as it looks. 

“Is that— Did you make this?” Peter’s eyebrow shoots up to his hairline when he puts the beef wellington on the table, and then his eyes narrow as Flash sits down opposite of him, smile still fixed on his face. 

“What did you do? Did you murder the neighbor? Oh my god, you ruined my suit, didn’t you?” 

“Relax, Pete. I haven’t done anything. Eat.” 

#

Peter makes the most pornographic sounds when he eats. They’re even worse when it’s something good. Flash can’t stop grinning. This is going perfectly to plan. 

“I can’t believe you made this. You either paid someone to make it for you or you set the noodles on fire on purpose to get out of dinner duties.” He stuffs his mouth full and closes his eyes along with his mouth around the fork, moaning like a god. “Let me tell you, Mr. Thompson, you are hereby back on kitchen service. This is delicious. Holy shit.”

#

When the food is devoured, Peter clears his throat, slides his plate to the side and leans his forearms on the table, eyes burning holes in Flash’s flushed face. 

“Okay, what’s the deal. Something’s up. I’m not that oblivious, y’know.” 

Flash takes a deep breath. This is it, he thinks. He takes Peter’s hand in his, and cringes inwardly when Peter flinches slightly, and his face morphs into a complex compound of dread, confusion and panic. “Is this your way of breaking up with me? Because that’s a really shitty way to go about it.” 

“What? No! No. Listen— ” He takes another deep breath, the speech he’d been practicing fading away and he wants to curse his stupid brain for not working under pressure. This is not the right time to get a bluescreen. 

“I wanted to thank you. For everything you’ve done. Both before and after we got together. You never judged me, and you gave me a chance when any other person with half a brain would have turned their back on me. 

“You were the only one there, when everyone else left the city, and you chose to reach out to me. _Me._ Your high school bully. And you’ve stuck around through all my fuck ups and missteps. 

“You’ve been my grounding point for longer than I care to admit, and I don’t know what I’ll do if I wake up one day and you’re not there to wish me a good morning.” He gets up from the table, willing his hands to stop shaking as he fishes out the tiny, black box. Peter looks like he’s about to either pass out or bolt through the door, but there’s no turning back now. 

He stands in front of him, takes a second to admire his wide eyes, crooked nose and the dusted stubble on his chin. Yeah, this is the man he wants to share his forever with.

“Peter, will you marry me?” He’s on his way down on one knee when he asks, but a strong hand fists his shirt and hauls him back up. Before he can even blink he’s being held in such an intense grip he doesn’t ever want to be let go of. 

“Do you promise to make this absolute heavenly meal every year?” Peter’s voice is a little watery, and Flash chuckles. 

“Yeah, Every year on this day until we’re both wrinkly and grey.”

“Then yeah, I’ll marry you, Gene.” 

* * *

**_“Endless love is followed by hurt”_ **

The service was beautiful. Not a single dry eye to see. Not that Flash was paying too much attention to everyone else there. They did say that everyone was welcome, after all. 

But there’s one face that Flash doesn’t want to see. And he’s had a few drinks, so whatever kind of restraint he might have had a few hours ago is long gone. 

He marches up to the man, standing tall and shaking hands like this is his day. Like he has any right to be here today. Like he has actually done anything for Peter that actually means something.

* * *

Flash doesn’t know how to fix broken bones. He’s not a doctor. He’s a businessman. Give him a stack of papers and he’ll go through them in no time. Put him in a room full of investors and he’ll charm them all half to death in half an hour. Having his boyfriend lying in their living room telling him to help set his ribs before they heal, however. 

He has no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do. And the idiot who does know, decided he should get a concussion along with the broken ribs, so he’s out like a light, sprawled out on the floor. 

“Hey, Ned. You’re used to dealing with Peter’s Spider-Man shit, right?” he asks, as casually as possible to the phone on the floor next to him. 

“Is he okay?” _No, he’s passed out with a concussion, broken ribs and he’s more purple than cream colored._

“He’ll be fine, but I don’t know how to set bones,” There’s shuffling on the other end and Flash absently looks at the clock. _Shit, he was probably already in bed._

“Okay, okay. I’m on my way. Give me like… fifteen minutes. Don’t feed him until I get there, or his healing’s gonna kickstart and we have to break them up again.”

Flash doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feed an unconscious moron, but sure, what the hell. He’ll just sit and wait. Wait for Peter’s best friend who can’t stand Flash on a good day, but still chooses to hang out with them. Still comes running if any of them asks. 

* * *

“What the hell are you doing here?!” He hisses through clenched teeth. He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t deserve to be here. This isn’t about him. He can go fuck off and demand the spotlight somewhere, _anywhere_ else. 

“Same reason as everybody else, Mr. Thompson.” Flash would have punched him, if it wasn’t for all the other guests, but he’s not _that_ drunk. Yet. He can’t help but think that this man, this supposedly important superhero, should have been there sooner.

* * *

Flash is watching some crappy show on netflix, waiting for Peter to come back from a photography job Jameson barked at him through the phone. He doesn’t understand why Peter lets himself be treated that way, really. From what he’s gathered he’s constantly ordered around and then yelled at for crappy pictures, threatened to be fired and then paid way less than the photos are actually worth. 

Peter deserves way better than that. In Flash’s mind, Peter deserves the world. He should know. He was a huge part of ruining Peter’s life. But Peter is the definition of everything pure and good, and maybe a little too naive. 

He’s tried several times to tell Peter he can do better than this. He doesn’t need to scramble for money every month. Flash has a job that pays more than enough to help his boyfriend get by. 

But he’s learned over the years that in addition to being good and pure and naive, he’s also got a stubbornness to rival every mule in existence. He won’t take anything handed to him. He won’t accept anything unless he’s deserved it (in his weird point of view). And for Peter to deserve something as simple as a few dollars for a good meal, he apparently has to save the world first. 

Flash is dragged out of his train of thoughts by the window behind him shattering and a heap of red and blue crashing down on his living room floor. 

_Holy shit. Spider-Man is in my living room!_

Scratch that. _Spider-Man is_ bleeding out _in my living room!_

“Oh my god! Shit. Holy fuck. Spider-Man is in my living room. Jesus Christ!” 

“Hey Gene,” he says, and Flash knows that voice. Even as rough and pained as it is. _What the actual fuck._

“Pete?” He crouches by the spandex clad hero, hands hovering as confusion settles as a fog around his brain. What is he supposed to do? There’s a hero bleeding out on his hardwood floor. Wearing his boyfriend's voice. Calling him by a name only Peter is allowed to use. 

“You don’t happen to have a towel nearby, do you? I don’t want to ruin your floor.” Yeah, that’s Parker, alright. No one else with their mind set straight would worry about someone else’s damn floor as they’re dying from blood loss.

He scrambles to his feet and hurries to the bathroom, grabs a first aid kit he’s never used and three towels. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do, but hopes to any and all the deities out there he doesn’t believe in that Peter does.

The idiot’s been stabbed. Which is absurd, because Flash has seen a video or two where the guy dodges fucking bullets. 

“The hell happened?!” Spider-Man, _no, Peter_ , grunts and sits up, leaning his back against the wall, and the broken glass crunches underneath him. Flash vinces. He needs to get rid of all of that. He needs Spider-Man, _Peter,_ to move.

“Get on the couch. How do I get this off? It looks like it’s glued to your body.” Peter laughs. He fucking _laughs_. Wet and gurgly and it’s interrupted by a nasty cough. Flash wants to rip his hair out. He’s not equipped for this shit. He’s barely able to handle Peter as his normal, goofy self. 

How the hell is he supposed to deal with a dying, delirious hero sprawled out in his home? Why the hell did Peter even think coming here was a good idea? Is he trying to give him a heart attack? Is this some kind of sick punishment for the past? Because in that case it’s definitely working.

A shaky hand smacks the Spider emblem on Peter’s chest and the suit expands like a pufferfish and pools around his waist. Flash is torn between telling him to put it back on, backing out of the apartment and never look back and kill Peter himself for getting so banged up or not telling his freaking boyfriend that he’s _fucking Spider-Man (holy shit)._

There’s so many thoughts running around he’s not even sure where to start. 

The suit falls down to a crumbled mess on the floor when Peter drags himself onto trembling feet, and unsteady fingers curl under the seam of the loose mask, ripping it off and throwing it carelessly in the growing pool of blood. _That’s gonna be hell to clean up. Maybe there’s some magic cleaning detergent for superhero suits._

There’s something completely different about watching an almost naked Peter Parker littered with bruises and cuts and blood, like Spider-Man just up and left and was replaced by his shy, awkward boyfriend. Flash is drawn out of the thick fog of panic and confusion and anger and has Peter in his arms seconds before he collapses back on all the broken glass. 

* * *

“Leave. Peter doesn’t need you here. You’re too late.” 

* * *

**_“And all we’ve built up just went down the drain”_ **

Peter is smiling up at him. Blood seeping out from his mouth, still as cheerful as ever. Flash doesn’t get how he can have so little respect for his own wellbeing. But then again, that’s not something new. It’s probably one of the many puzzles that’ll haunt him until there’s nothing left of him. 

* * *

Flash is standing by his locker, surrounded by half the football team as he retells the gala he’s father made him attend over the weekend. It feels good, all the attention he gets, despite the event being boring as hell, he makes sure to name all the important people he shook hands with, all the champagne he drank because no one was looking or actually acknowledging his presence there. (He doesn’t tell them that, though.)

He watches as Puny Penis Parker strolls past him, not a single care in the world as he chats excitedly with his chubby buddy about whatever the hell those nerds are so invested in. 

They almost knock over each other with how wildly their arms wave around as they walk, like they’re the only people in the world. Like nothing except the here and now really matters. 

Peter has a black eye and a split lip, and still he’s wearing that goofy, easy smile like nothing is out of the ordinary. Flash has seen his fair share of bruises, and that one has got to hurt like a bitch. What the hell gives orphan Penis Parker the right to act like that. Skipping down the hall as if he’s never met a wall in his life.

* * *

“I saved them, Gene.” He whispers, voice doing a poor attempt at hiding how much he’s hurting. Flash wants to smack him over the head for his selflessness. Why does he always put everyone else in front of himself. Why does he have to save _everyone? Everyone includes yourself, asshole._   
  


* * *

Flash is rubbing his sore ribs under the table, trying to focus on the task in front of him. He’s paired with stupid knowitall Penis Parker, and he can’t show _him_ that he can’t concentrate. Can’t let him know that he’s struggling to even sit up right. 

He’s not sure why it’s so different with him. He’s showing his perfect side to everyone on this god forsaken school. He shouldn’t have to worry about oblivious Parker noticing anything. It’s not like anyone else does.

“Hey,” he whispers, and elbows him lightly in the side. It hurts. It stings and shoots lightning through his stomach, making him both dizzy and nauseous, and an involuntary sob escapes his throat before he’s able to swallow it down.

Parker narrows his eyes at him, he can almost hear the gears turning in his head. “What’s wrong?”

“What the hell do you care, Penis?” he spits, because he can’t help himself. Something akin to butterflies flutters around and mingles with the pain at the other boy’s concerned voice, and he hates it. Why the fuck did the teacher think that pairing them together for this stupid project was a good idea?

Peter’s eyes narrow even more, a deep frown settling on his face as he looks Flash up and down. Flash isn’t used to this kind of scrutiny, for all the popularity and spotlight he has in this school, he’s still invisible. Hiding under a blanket woven out of quick insults and a high held nose. 

Peter sees right through it, and Flash knows he’s not gonna let it go. If there’s one thing he’s learned from terrorizing the guy it’s that he doesn’t give two shits about what anyone says to or about him. It just peels right off like cheap paint in the rain. 

“Dude. We’re lab partners. I’m not gonna do your share. If you can’t even sit upright without falling over you need to fix it.” And isn’t that just asshole language for _I see you_. Flash should know, he’s fluent in it.

* * *

_Please save yourself too._

Flash wants to do something. Anything that can help Peter get through this. But his head is filled with a thick fog, and he can’t think past the agony in his own chest at watching his husband in so much pain. 

_What can I do for you? Let me help you,_ he wants to say. But all that escapes his trembling lips is a choked sob. Is this how Peter felt when MJ died? This helplessness, this paralyzing fear of not being able to save their loved one?   
  


* * *

Peter’s phone slips from his hand, shattering on the kitchen tiles. His eyes are wide with horrified shock, mouth open and he’s holding his hand to his ear like the phone is still there. Flash stands slowly, taking a tentative step around the counter. 

He doesn’t know what happened, but he’s never seen Peter like this, so it can’t be anything good. His eyes follow Flash’s movements until they’re standing toe to toe. His lip trembles slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. Flash isn’t so sure he wants to know.

The second Flash opens his arms, Peter crashes into him, burying his face and sobbing like the whole world just lost its meaning. He wraps his arms around him, rocking slowly and kissing the side of his head. Peter responds by tightening his hold and soaking his shirt with tears and snot and misery. _What the hell happened?_

He doesn’t want to make assumptions, but with the way Peter is currently crying his heart out, he would have guessed someone died. _Oh, God, I hope it’s not May._

Peter’s legs give out under them, and they both sink down to the cold tiles, Peter still wrapped securely in his arms. He’s shaking so violently and each sob grows more fierce. 

“What’s going on, Pete?” he murmurs. He’s scared of the answer, but he doesn’t really expect one. Not yet, anyway. 

“She— she was there,” it doesn’t exactly answer anything at all, but Flash can be patient. For once in his life, he’s gonna do his best to keep calm for Peter. Let the other half of himself break down. He can be the strong one this time. 

“She was there, Gene. At the protest,” And then Peter doesn’t have to say who _she_ is. Doesn’t have to explain which protest. They had just talked about it last night, how grateful they were for the fact that MJ was at Harvard, and not in the city when the shootout went down.

“Oh my God. Pete, I —” his own throat closes up, and he hides his face in Peter’s brown curls, trying to steady his own breathing. This isn’t his loss. Him and MJ weren’t friends. They were sociable, when they had to be in the same room. But that had nothing to do with them, and everything to do with their love for Peter.

“I’m so sorry,”

* * *

Please, Please let him heal. Let him come home and smile and laugh and bright up everything around him. Don’t let this be the end.

* * *

**_“‘Cause of all we’ve fired and all we’ve torn”_ **

The apartment is dark when he enters for the first time in a week. It’s cold, grey where it used to be filled with colors. But that might just be the entire world. Everything around him seems to be dulled nowadays. 

All the sounds around him reduced to white noise, buzzing around him as the world turns without him.

He looks up at the wall, a picture of Flash, still in bed, the morning sun illuminating his face. He’s smiling in the photo. A carefree, happy little thing. He can’t even remember what it feels like anymore. But he remembers the day it was taken like it was yesterday. 

* * *

Peter is grinning like an idiot. Eyes crinkling with happiness and love and so much admiration in Flash’s direction that one would think he hung the moon and all the stars just for him. It’s ridiculous and cute and Flash swears he’ll do whatever he can to always be on the receiving end of that smile.

The camera is placed in front of his face, and a mischievous smirk is playing in the corner of his mouth as he clicks. Flash wants to be at least a little annoyed. He’s sitting in his boxer briefs on the bed, hair sticking out in every direction and sleep still smeared across his face.

But Peter is doing something complicated with all the buttons on the camera, all focused and captivating, before he shows the screen to him, that award winning smile still plastered on his flawless face. 

It’s a good picture. He has to admit. Even if Flash would prefer to be ready to play model. He should know better though, when he offers the camera in bed on his boyfriend’s birthday. 

“Thank you, Gene. Thank you so much. I love it. I don’t even know what to say.” The words rush out in a mess, and Flash hasn’t even finished working the words apart from each other before he’s got his arms full of almost naked boyfriend, peppering kisses all over his face.

#

They’re walking hand in hand down the paths of Central Park. The trees have just begun shifting colors and Peter all but demanded they get down here to test out some of the features on the camera. 

Flash doesn’t know the first thing about the piece of equipment, but the store owner assured him it was the best of the best. And for that price, it better be. But Peter could probably make a decent photo and win an award with a shitty flip phone camera. 

He stops, drops Flash’s hand, and in a few seconds, he’s scaled a fucking tree, aiming his camera towards the lake. Smile never leaving his face as he messes around. Flash finds a bench and decides he’s never letting anything ruin this. 

#

By Christmas, Peter’s shitty apartment is littered with pictures. Hanging on the walls on a string, framed or lying across the coffee table. Those are the best ones, Flash thinks. Showing off Peter in his suit, freefalling through the sky, kicking Rhino in the chin, Hanging upside down from a lamp post or perched on a rooftop, watching over the city like the protector he is.

Something swells in Flash’s chest at the thought. He’s dating that man. He’s seen the hero on his worst, on his best, hurt and hungry and drunk. He’s seen his big, innocent eyes shining with tears of joy and sorrow and anger and he’s kissed the pink lips hiding under the mask. He knows the man behind the costume, and he’s so, so proud of everything he’s done and keeps doing.

* * *

The boxes are almost packed. The apartment feels even more empty now. Echoes of his own breathing deafening against his ears, every step he takes on sock clad feet sending vibrations through the home they used to love. 

There’s not much love left here anymore. He can see Peter’s collection of blankets in one of the open boxes. What he wouldn’t give to be back to that time. When his biggest fear was whether or not Peter would push him away if he sat too close in the blanket tent.

* * *

Peter has turned his entire living room into a massive bed. There’s blankets and pillows and sheets hanging from the ceiling to make a makeshift tent. There’s even fairy lights mixed into the mess of cloth and comforters and it looks like Flash stepped into a fairytale. 

“Pete!” He backs out of the room, stumbling over his own shoes he just toed off and shuffles into the bedroom, where Peter is hanging halfway into his closet. Tip toeing dangerously close to the end of a wobbly chair to reach something in the back. “What the hell are you doing?!” 

He’s across the room and holding onto the chair faster than lightning, glaring up at Peter’s abs, peeking out from his shirt as he stretches. 

“I’m getting ready for movie night,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Newsflash, it’s not. This is so far from any movie night Flash has ever attended, he doesn’t even know where to start.

“What are you, five?” Peter’s head snaps up, and looks down from under his arm with what’s probably meant to be a threatening glare. 

“1. There’s no age limits to movie nights. B. Do your research, dude. You’ve been making fun of my childish side for like 10 years.” He backs out of the closet, straightens his back and drags something fluffy looking in red and blue. “Here, take these.” he announces just as he drops them on his head and jumps from the chair. Flash doesn’t even hear him land back on the floor. 

They’re one pieces. Superhero themed one pieces. “I’m taking the Spider-Man one. You can be a wannabe Iron Man.” Flash throws the red and gold fleece back at Peter, who looks at him like he won an award. And, yeah, Flash knows Peter likes Iron Man, that’s never been a secret to anyone, but that look. It’s a little too much for a costume.

They settle down in Peter’s pillow cave with enough beer to drown a sailor, half the store's worth of candy and chips and Peter’s homemade laptop. It’s surprisingly cozy. Flash doesn’t mind being cuddled up with Peter like this. As long as no one else sees it. 

“Why didn’t we do this the last time we watched a movie?”

“Dude. Do you have any idea how long it takes to set this up?”

* * *

What he would give to have it all back. If only for a day.

* * *

**_“There’s no life left after the war”_ **

Flash holds the flowers tightly in his grip as he walks across the green field. His heart is squeezed a little tighter in his chest with every flex of his fingers. _Come on, Flash. You can do this._

“Hey, Pete,” he murmurs as he sits down in the fresh grass. “It’s been a while, now,” he places the flowers down, brushes against the delicate petals with his thumb and smiles. It’s not a happy smile. Flash doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to do that again. 

“Can you imagine, Pete. No one has called me Gene in a year.” _And no one will ever call me that again_ , he doesn’t say. Peter probably knows that already. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever be able come back here, y’know. But then I thought about how brave you were that night in college. And I want to honor that. I know this isn’t enough. But I’m working on it.”

* * *

Flash is sitting on Peter’s creaking desk chair, waiting for him to come back with the thai they ordered. He wasn’t supposed to stay this long; they were just going over some notes Peter missed from the psychology class they have together. 

But then Peter’s stomach decided enough was enough and made a sound so loud it was like having a bulldozer coming through the wall. And it wasn’t even that long since Flash watched Peter devour a whole bag of chips and a sandwich. 

He just laughed it off and asked if Flash wanted something to eat too. 

It’s so weird, being this close to Peter, and seeing him _laugh._ It’s a wonderful sound, to be honest. Pure and raw and like everything else about Peter: whole.

Because Peter never does anything halfway. He gives his all to everyone and everything. Even Flash. And it’s a little intimidating to be in his orbit like this. Flash has never been nice to him. They’ve been polite since they fucked off to the same college and everyone else spread out elsewhere. 

Not even after picking Peter up stupid drunk and a grieving mess have they actually done anything to change that. Flash wants to, though. He really wants to be nice to Peter. To show him how much he admires him. His strength, his goodness. Selflessness. He’s everything Flash will never be, and he wants Peter to know how much he appreciates it. 

He wants to tell him how much it means that he gets a second chance. That Peter doesn’t blame him for his insecurities or flaws or shitty personality. He wants to tell him how grateful he is. But Flash has never been good with words, and he doesn't exactly want to scare Peter off by suddenly turning into a sentimental wreck.

Peter returns with half the restaurant in his hands, dumping it on the desk before jumping up to sit next to it. The old wood creaks under him and Flash rolls the chair back a little so he won't have a lap full of greasy food, Peter and desk if the thing decides to give up. 

"So, you wanna watch a movie when we're done with this psychology crap?" he asks, mouth full of springroll and feet kicking the air, like that's just a thing they do. Like it doesn't send Flash's mind into a spiral of _what the fuck_ and _what the_ actual _fuck is he doing?!_

He might look slightly horrified by the suggestion, because Peter pauses, finger in his mouth, sucking off whatever sauce he managed to smear on them. "We don't have to, but I thought it could be a nice distraction, so we don't melt our brains, y'know," he shrugs and dries his hand on his worn down jeans before he reaches out for a carton of pad thai and a pair of chopsticks. Completely oblivious to Flash's internal war.

Should he do it? It would be a great opportunity to show Peter that he's trying to be good. But sitting close to Peter, smelling his cheap cologne and listening to his even breathing, without being able to do something about the tension?

Of course, Peter is probably oblivious to that too, but Flash has been trying really hard not to focus on his perfect, pink lips when he talks, or imagine those long, stupidly fragile fingers running through his hair. 

He's stubbornly not letting his eyes wander down Peter's back when he walks in front of him, but still he catches glimpses of how the muscles move under the threadbare shirts he's wearing. He walks like a gracious cat, hips swaying delicately, like he owns the ground around him, yet he acts like he owes it every piece of himself just for being allowed to be there. 

Flash is very aware of all of this, and he prays to everything he can think of that Peter will never find out. But sitting next to him and not have anything else to do but to torture himself through it? He's not so sure he can do that. 

He's interrupted from his own disastrous spiralling by a hand swatting his shoulder playfully, and when he looks up, Peter is smirking knowingly at him with amused, sparkling eyes. 

"C'mon. It'll be fun. I'll even let you choose. May won't be home until tomorrow anyway," he says, and throws in a wink, like he knows exactly what the hell Flash is thinking. _Can he read minds?_

They end up on a couch that looks like it should be retired at least 20 years ago. Peter is curled up in one corner, popcorn in his lap and a beer in his hand as he watches the movie Flash picked. 

He has no idea what it is, didn’t really bother checking before he clicked play on the first suggestion that came up. It’s not like he’ll be able to focus on it anyway. He really should have left. But maybe he deserves to torture himself like this for a while. At least Peter looks to be enjoying himself.

Somewhere throughout his self inflicted misery, Peter manages to sneak closer to his end on the couch, bowl now balanced between their thighs, warm skin touching his bare arms each time he reaches for the crumbles of popcorn that’s left. _When did Peter stop being so shy?_

Someone screams on the tv, and the empty bowl goes flying. Peter is sitting in his lap and Flash is having a minor heart attack.

His heart is racing so fast and so hard in his chest he’s sure it’s about to pop right out, and then the stupid idiot causing all of this is _laughing_. And hiding his face in the crook of Flash’s neck. Hot puffs of air tickles his skin and there’s no way Peter can’t feel the intensity of his pulse on the tip of his nose. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, low and lighthearted at the same time, but he doesn’t make a move to get back to where he was. Instead he circles his arms around Flash’s still shocked body, wet lips gracing his throat. 

Flash swallows, confused and terrified with a hint of hope, and he has absolutely no idea what to do with this. Should he push Peter off? Should he come up with some snarky comment? 

Should he let Peter lead whatever the hell is going on and see what happens? He’s never let anyone take the wheel before, but right now, he’d much rather be sitting in the backseat and observe. At least then, if they crash, it won’t be his fault.

“Is this okay?” he asks, confident and not even a hint of nerves in his voice. Flash is so caught up in this unafraid version of his former victim, all of his own confidence and self-assurance withered away, and he swallows again. 

“Yeah,” is all he can think to answer. His tone like gravel rasping up his throat. But it is okay. It’s more than okay. Flash has always strived to become the best, have the best of everything. Yet, his feelings for Peter was never something he thought he could ever pursue. 

Peter shifts, straddles him like he owns every inch of his body. Beaming smile and lively eyes look down at him, and Flash meets it with his own. Long, pale and calloused fingers trace his cheekbones, cups his face and the warmth of his palms melts away the walls he’s spent so long building. Brick by brick, insult by insult, and all that’s left is the insecurities of a young boy who’ll never be enough.

Then their lips meet, soft and sweet and the feeling of not being enough is melting away too.

* * *

Flash stares at the marble. He never thought he would end up like this. Even though he knew what Peter did every night. He knew what kind of danger he put himself in. He had witnessed it so many times. Yet, the thought of ending up without him never crossed him. 

“I’m bad at this, huh? I keep expecting you to come home. Even though home is somewhere else now. I couldn’t stay in _our_ home anymore. I’m sorry I’m not as strong as you.”

* * *

Flash frowns down at his phone as it lights up. Parker doesn’t call. They’re not there yet. If they’ll ever get to that point at all. 

“Hello?” There’s loud music blaring on the other end and Flash only has half a moment to wonder if nerdy Penis Parker actually managed to drag his ass to a party for once. On a Wednesday no less.

“Hi!” says a high pitched female voice that definitely doesn’t belong to Parker. “I’m sorry to bother you, but you were the last person this dude talked to, and he’s passed out on the bathroom floor.”

Of course Peter isn’t able to hold his liquor. _Idiot._

A part of him wants to tell this person to fuck off and call someone else. This certainly isn’t his problem to deal with. He has an assignment to work on.

He has no idea what the hell the other part of him is thinking with, but he ends up in his car, still dressed in his flannel pj’s and ESU hoodie at two am to pick up his drunk, passed out “not-there-yet-friend”.

Peter is (thankfully) awake when Flash arrives, sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest in a tiny bathroom looking more miserable than Flash has ever seen him.

They may be civil towards each other nowadays, but this isn’t something Flash has ever had to deal with, and he feels so out of place. Doesn’t Peter have real friends to take care of this shit?

But when he scrambles his brain for answers it’s painfully obvious that _no, Peter doesn’t have anyone else._ Ned fucked off to MIT and Michelle went to win over Harvard, and even Flash isn’t that ignorant that he doesn’t notice the fact that his former bully victim is an introvert. Always sitting by himself. 

He offers a glass of water and a ride home, threatening halfheartedly to sue his ass if he pukes in his car.

When he asks why he ended up blackout drunk on a Wednesday, he tells himself it’s pure curiosity. It’s not like he cares about Parker or anything. 

“It’s nothing. Thanks for the ride though.”

“Asshole. I drove across town in pj’s at 2 am. I deserve better than that.”

In hindsight, Flash should have known that forcing his way into Peter’s life like that was the wrong way to get answers. The guy’s probably traumatized to hell for all the shit he went through in high school because Flash was jealous. It makes perfect sense that Peter doesn’t want to share anything with him.

Yet— “It’s 5 years since my uncle died, and every time I close my eyes I’m back in that alley watching him bleed out.”

Flash swallows thickly and keeps his eyes on the road. He feels even worse than he did when Peter told him that he doesn’t blame him for all he did when they were kids. Bile rises in his throat and he’s scared maybe he’ll be the one to throw up.

“You were there when he died?”

Peter hums, but doesn’t offer anything else. He stares out of the window and Flash suddenly wants to make up for everything he ever did and said. 

“You hungry? I’m starving—” he’s not. He can barely keep down the chinese takeout he ate 7 hours ago. “ — There’s a burger joint close by that’s still open.” Close by may be an understatement, but Flash can’t find it in him to just leave Peter right now. 

It’s pathetic, not nearly enough to make anything better, but it’s the only thing he can think about in the middle of the night. Peter eyes him suspiciously (Flash doesn’t blame him), but nods regardless. Maybe his drunk mind is making this a little easier for Flash. It doesn’t matter, either way. 

Flash has made up his mind. And to think it’s the same thing he used to make Peter’s life a living hell that starts their new friendship.

* * *

He draws his knees up to his chest. Watches the shadows stretch out around him. Time is still not a thing he can fathom. The earth is still turning without him. People move on and keep going. They live their lives like every other day. 

Flash does that too, but he doesn’t have the same eagerness to step into tomorrow. If he could, he would rather take that step backwards. Back into Peter’s loving arms. Back into the safe embrace of the man he was supposed to share his forever with.

“I didn’t get to make that beef wellington again. I promised you every year, didn’t I? I blame you for that. I’m not gonna spend half a day cooking a meal for 6 grown men and eat it alone.”

His eyes catch the name on the stone, and another small smile tugs the corner of his lips. “Thompson-Parker does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” 

They had so many discussions about that. Neither of them willing to part with their family name. Flash understands now why Peter wanted to keep his. He was the last living Parker. And Flash couldn’t for the life of him figure out why it was so important for him to keep it, if he didn’t plan on getting kids anyway. 

He understands now. He carries the name with dignity. He’s not letting it go to waste. He never knew any of the other Parkers, but he’s still close with May, and from all the stories he’s heard, they’re all the same kind hearted, selfless idiots. 

“Our son is coming soon, now, Pete. I know you didn’t want kids, but you don’t have a say in the matter anymore. It’s lonely without you, and I can’t let the Parkers die out. I’ll tell him all about you, though. He’ll know who his dad was.”

He traces the lines of the black lettering, cold and hard. Not like the real Peter at all. But Flash doesn’t really remember how Peter’s skin felt like anymore. The ghostly touch that lulled him to sleep so many nights after he died is long gone now. 

“I wish you were here.” he whispers, choking on the words as reality settles in for the first time in a year. Peter is gone. He’s not coming back. The memories will fade, and they will never make new ones. 

For the first time since he watched the love of his life bleed out in front of him, Flash cries.

**_“And all we fought for weren’t worth the pain”_ **

**Author's Note:**

> The bold lines and the title is from a song called In the End by Mono Inc. 
> 
> I hope I managed to pull this off, it's easily the hardest fic I've ever challenged myself to write.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
